


Taste Like a Keg Party

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drag Queen Steve Harrington, Drag Queens, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Missy Faye always does her Lana routine when she performs at Scarlet. After the show, she runs into someone from Steve Harrington’s past.





	Taste Like a Keg Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyBaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/gifts).

Missy Faye resides in dresser drawers, makeup pallets, and pairs of shiny high heels. She lives on Instagram, with thousands of followers, and likes, and unread DM’s. Missy Faye exists in the liminal space of glamour shots with perfect lighting, on posters advertising shows with drink specials. She’s a pretty, pouty, face with long, glossy hair. She’s a product, wrapped in cellophane. 

Missy Faye is a beautiful fever dream. Steve Harrington has to deal with reality. He has to struggle to pay the rent on the dirty apartment he shares with three other Queens. The living room is always a disaster area of wigs, dresses and hairspray. He has to pay for groceries with crumpled dollar bills. He has to run the private snapchat that people pay $10 a month to jerk off to. He has to book shows, and post makeup tutorials on his youtube channel, and flirt with weird guys on tumblr until they buy the most recent dress, or leggings, or lingerie on his wishlist. It’s a full time job and he also has to work weekends bartending in boystown because he’s not quite ready to admit he should probably just get a sugar daddy. 

He has to read the hate mail from awful straight guys calling Missy a _ trap. _ It’s a twisted sort of compliment. Not all the Queens are pretty enough to pass _ . _It still doesn’t feel good in such an ugly context. Like it doesn’t feel good when Missy gets catcalled on the street, and there’s a moment of wondering if it will end there or become a hate crime when the drunk frat bro realizes what she is. 

Still. There’s nothing in the world like pulling sheer stockings over freshly shaved legs and sliding into a pair of red-soled Louboutin heels. When the shoes go on, Missy Faye becomes corporeal. It’s not a meticulously curled and styled wig, it’s her luxurious hair done up for the night. Her lips are always this pink and glossy. Her perfectly contoured face and winged eyeliner are effortless. 

It’s a Friday night show at the Scarlet. Missy always does Lana when she’s at Scarlet. Tonight she’s in a sleeveless white satin dress that barely covers her ass, with a flowery headband to match. The dress has a high neckline, and she barely padded. She’s one of the lucky girls, with slim arms and a narrow waist. She has on black velvet gloves that cut off just below her elbows. 

She gets there half an hour late, which is still earlier than some of the girls. She could undoubtedly get free drinks if she hung out at the bar, but she wants to preserve the mystique. So she sits towards the back sipping a vodka soda.

The show starts an hour after schedule. Which is only standard. There’s no stage, they just clear a space on the floor along the bar. Missy is towards the end of the lineup. The beat hits and she strides out with her well-rehearsed routine. 

_ You can be the boss, Daddy, you can be the boss. _

All those eyes on her are thrilling. She snatches dollar bills from extended fingers, flashing a smile, maybe draping an arm around the guy or caressing his jaw if he’s cute. She actually turns around and grinds against her friend Charlie, bending over and snapping back, hair swinging in a perfect arc, before she takes the twenty from him. 

Of course, she throws the money into the air about halfway through and Jason, the bar back, stoops behind her to pick it all up while she starts the floor routine. Doing the splits. Flashing her lacy red panties. Stretching out like a cat. Sitting with her knees spread and her hands dragging up her thighs, lifting her dress as she lip-syncs _ I need you babe, like I’ve needed anyone. You’re wrong but you’re so much fun. _

She hops up onto her feet before the song ends. Spinning and shaking her hips, like she learned in her Salsa classes when she first moved to the city. As the music fades she strikes a pose, blows kisses to the crowd. Jason brings the tips back to her table. She counts and stuffs the bills into her purse. Ninety-two dollars. Twenty new followers on Instagram. Not awful, considering how cramped the bar is. It can never fit as big a crowd as she likes. 

After the last performance, she leaves her secluded table and mingles. She gushes to the other girls about their outfits and how well they did, even if she only half means it. She eventually wanders up to the bar. She doesn’t manage to catch the bartender’s attention before a hand lightly touches her waist and a deep voice says, “Can I buy you a drink?”

That’s what she was waiting on, anyway. Before she even bothers to turn her head, she says, “Sure, honey. Vodka soda.”

She takes a step back, letting the guy have her spot at the bar. She barely glimpses his face. He’s got nice hair. Long, blonde, with loose, luscious curls. He’s got broad shoulders. His thin t-shirt accentuates his muscular back, cinches around his biceps. His jeans show off his ass, just right. Unless his face is absolutely hideous, she’s already sold. Even then—she could probably just close her eyes and run her hands over that killer body and get off just fine. 

When he turns around, holding two drinks, she almost faints. 

“Oh my god. Billy?” Steve’s voice cracks. Losing that soft, airy quality he tries to maintain whenever he’s Missy. 

“Uh… yeah? Sorry, do I know you?” He raises his scarred eyebrow.

God. He looks almost exactly like he did in high school. The blonde beard is fuller, and there are more tattoos curling down his arms. But other than that he’s still the douchebag who used to hip-check Steve during basketball practice. He’s the insufferable California beach boy who took Steve’s place at the top of the food chain when he moved to middle-of-nowhere Indiana.

Once, a very drunk Billy Hargrove kissed Steve at a party. They ended up grinding against each other on the hard wooden floor of the gazebo in Tommy H’s backyard until they creamed their pants. They never talked about it. 

“It’s Steve. Harrington.”

“Holy shit,” Billy face splits into a grin. “You’re fucking joking.”

“Why else would I even know that name?”

“Fair point. Well. Cheers.” Billy hands over the vodka soda. He clicks his own glass against it and takes a sip. 

Steve sucks down half the drink in one go. Billy is still standing there. Staring at him. Almost too close for comfort. 

“I liked your routine a lot.” Billy breaks the silence.

“Thanks?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Also still an asshole, apparently.” Billy laughs. 

“What, am I supposed to pretend I’m insecure to inflate your ego or something?”

“Wanna dance?” Billy knocks back the rest of his whiskey on the rocks and sets the empty glass on the bar. 

Steve finishes his drink too. Sets his rocks glass right next to Billy’s. He flips his hair and tries to look disinterested. “I guess.”

Billy pulls him out into the dance floor. Hands on his ass. Leg pressed between Steve’s thighs before the first song is even over. Steve’s only a little upset when Billy kisses him and smears his makeup. He’s too distracted by the bone-rocking chemistry to focus on much else. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ‘You Can Be The Boss’ by Lana Del Rey. 
> 
> Check out flippyspoon’s or my [ tumblr](https://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) and search ‘Harringrove for RACIES’ to find the Deets if you’re interested in it.


End file.
